Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Wading into Grace (Poem and Picture 036)--January 22, 2019


"Wading into Grace"
See Christ Here Poem and Picture 036--January 22, 2019

They say
grace is like the rain--
it comes down and covers
everything.
As the water falls
giving itself away
for the life of the earth,
I cannot help but notice
that I am wading into grace
with every step.
How would Christ teach me
without the gift of

such rainy afternoons?

#seeChristhere


Stubbornly, Vulnerably (Poem and Picture 035)--January 21, 2019


"Stubbornly, Vulnerably"
See Christ Here Poem and Picture 035--January 21, 2019

It was my fault.
I had left this bulb,
bought from the clearance rack,
in the dark cold of a car trunk
and forgotten about it.
And still
look how a new green edge
stubbornly,
vulnerably
refuses
to let my failure
be the last word.
O amaryllis,
like Christ

you do not give up on me.

#seeChristhere


Tuesday, January 22, 2019

Traces (Poem and Picture 034)--January 20, 2019


"Traces"
See Christ Here Poem and Picture--January 20, 2019

Even late at night
the sun leaves traces
of its presence
like fingerprints:
icicles tell the tale of sunlit warmth
that made them dribble into existence;
light bouncing off the moon
and into our eyes;
trees which only grew so tall
in past summer sun.

God, too, leaves such traces.

#seeChristhere


Every Face a Sanctuary


Every Face a Sanctuary--January 23, 2019

"Then God said, 'Let us make human kind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.' So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them." [Genesis 1:26-27]

You can communicate "sadness" with a piece of music, or convey "springtime in the country" through a painting.  But you can't convey the concept of the number seven through a smell.  And you probably would have a very difficult time communicating "heartbreak" through a soup recipe.  You can project the shadow of a person onto a screen or a sheet to tell a story, but you can't project the shadow of a song, or of the taste of peaches, onto a screen.  You can get paint onto a canvas--the canvas can bear having a picture painted onto it (and indeed, the canvas was made for just such a purpose)--but you can't put paint on a radio wave.

Some channels just don't work for conveying some messages.

Even using language, some means don't work well.  Morse Code was fine for sending latitudes and longitudes of enemy vessels during naval battles in World War II.  But you couldn't, for example, get across the perfectly-timed deadpan humor of an early Bob Newhart phone gag in Morse code.  You need to see his face, hear the hesitancy in his voice, and his comedic knack for pauses and silence in between the spoken lines.

All of that is to say that it is really quite a powerful statement that the Scriptures make when they say that human beings are made "in the image of God."  For whatever else it means (and we'll get there in a bit), the storytelling in Genesis claims that human beings are capable of bearing some telltale imprint of the person of God.  Human beings are, just in our being, able to communicate something of who God is.  

That really is a profound claim, especially given how vastly different--holy, transcendent, mysterious, and infinite--God is from human beings in some ways.  God is beyond time, beyond space, beyond our tiny frail categories and perceptions of reality, and yet in some meaningful way, Genesis says, you can project the image of God onto the screen of humanity and still get a half-decent picture.  Somehow, to some degree, God's character is evident in human beings.

So in a sense, before we even get to the later New Testament claim that in Jesus we had God walking around in human skin, Genesis has already primed the pump and said that all human beings--every child of every parent in all of human history--already bears the image of God right off the bat.  Before the incarnation of God in Christ, the image of God is already visible in our skin in the face and personality of every one of us.

Maybe this is a little like saying that while you can't convey the smell of the number seven in an aroma, you can convey deep sadness in a song--and you can (or, God can) convey some essential glimpse of God's own being, through... us.

And notice--it is through all of us.  In every permutation, every variation, every one of us.  Him, her, they, them, we, us, me, you, in every shade of color, every subtle difference, beyond the boundaries of whatever categories we tend to put each other in, we bear the image of God in some true and unmistakable way, like when you hear the blues, you know it is communicating heartbreak and sorrow.  In a sense, then, it is no wonder that the story we call the Gospel eventually says that God entered into our humanity in Jesus of Nazareth in some new and definitive way: the opening chapter of the Bible itself was getting us ready for a turn in the story like that by telling us that every last one of us already bears the image of God from the get-go.

Perhaps the question, then, is whether we dare to recognize that image in every person--every person--rather than reverting back to our old instinct only to see the divine in "the ones who are like me."  To be brutally honest, for a lot of the last few millennia, a lot of Respectable Religious people have assumed that God is really male, white, and probably spoke King James English (I have heard more than a few say over the years that they believed the only true version of the Bible is the old King James, on the grounds that "God speaks that way", and forgetting the layers of Hebrew and Greek underneath any English translation).  But if we dare to take the voice of Genesis seriously, then we can't accept the bearded European fellow on the Sistine Chapel as the sole bearer of God's "image."  If we take the storytelling here seriously, then God's image is not reducible to the binary picture of male or female, men or women, and for that matter, God is not reducible to "whiteness", either.  Even the singularity of God is more complicated than it might first appear here in Genesis, since God says, "Let us make humankind in our image."  That suggests that God's own being, God's pronouns, so to speak, cannot be expressed as merely "he" but "they"--and in fact, classic Christian theology speaks of God as a Trinity of Three Persons in One Being who are beyond our categorization of gender, race, or what-have-you.

This is to say that every person you and I see today bears the presence of the divine.  Every human being is, within our own being, holy ground.  Every face is a sanctuary.  And we do not get to pick and choose which faces are worthy of our respect, which faces are deserving of our love, which faces are reflections of the God who is here in our skin.... because they all are.  

Here's a secret: you don't have to go to church to see God.  You don't have to get underneath a steeple or looking at a bearded figure in stained glass to get a glimpse of God's face.  You don't even need to go out into the woods in the peace of nature--although you can sense God's presence there, too.  But right next to you, right in front of you, right around you, every human face is a reflection of God's own image--in our capacity for relationship and love, compassion and creativity, thought and reason and self-awareness.  God has made us to be capable of bearing that image from the very beginning, which makes all of humanity a sort of walking gallery of canvases painted with divine self-portraits.

When we take that claim seriously, it will change every interaction with every person--the bigwig boss at work, as well as the awkward, gangly clerk at the grocery story ringing up your milk and bread, the faces that look like yours, and the ones who are quite different, the stories that resonate with yours, and the lives that have taken very different courses.  It will mean I do not get to cling to the privilege of treating the ones who look more like me as more important, as of greater worth, while sneering and smirking at others whose likeness is not on the Sistine Chapel. It will mean we no longer get to treat some human beings as of more worth, and it will mean that we will honor the image of God in the ones that the world labels as "the losers," "the strangers," the "other," and the ones who do not fit our categories.  

Look for the presence of God all around you today, friends.  Every face is a sanctuary.

Lord God, let us glimpse your image in the presence of others around us, and give us the ability to honor your image in all.


Seeing All That's There


“Seeing All That’s There”—January 22, 2019

“On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded.  They said, ‘Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offense at him.” [Mark 6:2-3]

Sometimes, it is possible to be staring at something straight on and still to miss it.

Anyone who remembers those “Magic Eye” computer-designed images that were so popular in the 1990s will tell you the same.  Stereograms, they were called—and they’re still around today as a quirky visual artform.  On a two-dimensional surface would be printed a pattern—and if you stared at it intently, you would see nothing more than the repeated pattern as a flat image on the paper.  But if you sort of let your eyes relax and unfocus, a new image would appear to “jump out” in three-dimensions.  It was there all along, and the old pattern didn’t disappear—it’s just that there was more there the whole time, and your eyes had to take a while to recognize it.  But that means that in the mean time, while you are learning to let your eyes see the “hidden” image, you can be staring straight at the deeper picture and be completely oblivious to it.

When Jesus goes back to his hometown, all of a sudden, he is the living stereogram in their midst, and the folks back home can only see the flat pattern.  And of course, they start to sound like those people who can’t see anything more in a “magic eye” image than the plain two-dimensional pattern that becomes the background for the “real” image.  “I can’t see anything more in this Jesus…” they say.  “I know what I’m looking at—and it’s just the carpenter.”  “We know his story—this is the kid whose brothers and sisters are all still around, who never left town, and there’s nothing more to be said about this Jesus.”  They can’t believe that Jesus has the gall to talk to them like there’s anything more to him than meets the eye.

That's the driving question of all the gospels, particularly of Mark's:  who will recognize the truth of who Jesus really is?  Most of the time, it is a surprising and motley group of persons who recognize that Jesus is the Son of God—a group that includes demons, tax collectors, Roman centurions, and only sometimes includes Jesus’ own hand-picked disciples!  But the people you would expect to recognize Jesus—the religious experts or his closest neighbors and family members—these people keep missing the truth about Jesus.  He had been staring them right in the face all those years in Nazareth, or in encounter after encounter with the Pharisees and religious professionals, and they are missing the truth that Jesus is none other than God-with-us, the Son walking around in a human life.  It’s not that Jesus isn’t really human—it’s that in the midst of his humanity, Jesus is at one and the same time fully God in the flesh.  The religious experts can’t see that, even though the fuller picture is right in front of them.

I wonder if we suffer from the same troubled vision sometimes, too.  Not that we don’t recognize Jesus—no, at least for most of us who have spent anytime in the church at all, we have learned the right technical terms and liturgical formulas to recite to show we know that Jesus is the Son of God.  We know the Creed, perhaps, which insists that Jesus is God’s Son, “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God… of one Being with the Father.”  We know that the “right answer” about Jesus is that he is God’s Son.  And yet when we look for the presence of Jesus, and of the Kingdom he brings, right in our midst, we miss these things that are right in front of us.  It is hard sometimes for us to see that Christ shows up right among us, in our skin.

Here’s what I mean, or at least an example.  Ask someone to tell you about the Kingdom of God, and chances are, most church folk are going to start talking about heaven—some place, other than here, where we will go when we die.  But we have a much harder time recognizing the Kingdom, the Reign of God, in moments and people and actions around us, right here right now, where God is reigning and creating a community full of overflowing joy and genuine love.  We church folk easily miss that Jesus really is present whenever two or three are gathered in his name—even if that is in a hospital intensive care unit as tearful prayers are spoken.  We can easily miss that God’s Kingdom is there in the serving hands of disciples washing dishes together in the church kitchen… or the soup kitchen… or in your kitchen.  We can miss that the Reign of God “happens” as strangers who were told they were unacceptable by someone else... are welcomed.  We so often miss that it’s a Kingdom moment when we are given the opportunity to listen to someone whose heart is heavy, or to forgive someone you had just settled for estrangement from.  We often miss that Jesus insists on showing up, as he said, in the presence of “the least of these.”  And so we miss that there is a deeper, fuller picture going on all the time in the midst of the flat patterns on the surface of things.  We miss seeing that no less than the living God is breaking into our daily routines, right where we are.  

Today, let us refuse to miss out any longer. Today, let us be willing to look for Jesus as he has already been there among us, staring us in the face, and see the fuller picture awaiting us in this day.

Lord Jesus, don’t let us settle today for seeing only surface things.  Let us see you here in our midst, and let us recognize the fuller picture of who you are and where you choose to show up.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

The Overlooked Sigh


The Overlooked Sigh--January 21, 2019
“They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, ‘Eph’pha-tha,’ that is, ‘Be opened.’ And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.” [Mark 7:32-35]
The only world Jesus came to heal is the real world—the world of tangible, touchable details, of earthy, ordinary, messy things like saliva, and of the end-of-the-day weariness that makes you sigh before you gather yourself again for the next thing to be done.  This is the world that needs healing, and it is the only world in which we will find Jesus working.
We Christians continue to have the problem remembering that Jesus came to this world, in all its utter commonness and messiness, this weary world of ours.  We have this need to imagine instead that Jesus walked six inches above the ground, stayed antiseptically distant from those who were in need of him, and was never saddened or worn down by the life he saw around him.  We almost would rather imagine Jesus only “up” in heaven where he can stay untainted by this world of ours and where he won’t get his lovely white robe dirty. We would rather not have to imagine the awfully earthy and intimate image of a man spitting on his fingers and placing them on a sick person’s tongue.  “I mean really, Jesus,” we think, “we know you can heal people simply by your word.  That seems respectable.  That seems impressive.  That seems like what a dignified Savior would do.  Not spitting and poking fingers in people’s ears.”
But there goes Jesus, touching tongues, spitting on his hands, and sighing in the midst of it all, too.  He is a decidedly earthy savior, and we can’t get away from that.  Mark, in fact, seems to want to spend a lot of time on this moment—describing the details down to Jesus’ sighing, even.  Just let that image settle in for you: the Son of God sighing. That sound we humans make when we are tired and our defenses let down enough to show it. That sound we make of release, of letting go. Of unclenching our spirits for a moment. Of surrender.  And yet it is not a powerless sigh—it is much the same as the way Paul tells us that when we pray, “the Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Rom. 8:27).  Jesus sighs as a wordless prayer to the Father who will work through Jesus ordinary words, “Be opened.”  Maybe you have never pictured a Savior who sighs.  I must confess that this detail caught me off guard the first time I read it and paid any attention. It makes Jesus seem so very human. 
That, of course, is the whole point.  Jesus is a real human savior (yes, fully God, too, we are sure to remember, but absolutely human, too at the same time), and he has come to real human beings in the real world.  That means the world Jesus entered, and the world Jesus came to heal is the same world you and I still live in.  It means that Jesus knows, really knows, what it is to be brought to the point of sighing.  It means Jesus is willing to get dirt under his fingernails and spit on his hands.
Some part of me has a hard time believing that the Christ of God is willing to get that close to this world.  There is so much that is disappointing, heartbreaking, and rotten among us.  There are smugly smirking faces wallowing in their privilege. There are angry blowhards ranting and bellowing to get our attention like little children.  There are deep sorrows and terrible shames.  And sometimes, it is difficult to believe that Jesus can bear to face all of the worst in us like that.  And yet, here is this story, where Jesus sees the heartache of the human experience, and does not run away from it.  He sighs... and he stays.
I sometimes wonder if the watching world shrugs Jesus off because we Respectable Religious folks have made them think he is from some alien world, or that he will only come close enough to us to drop us a few rules and commandments, but not close enough to touch our ears and our tongues with his own fingers.  If that is true, I wonder if it is our fault that we have given this false impression of our very earthy, fully human, savior.  I wonder—have we acted and talked as if Jesus is irrelevant to the hurts and tiredness of this day, as if he has no part in the joys and celebrations of this day, too?  Have we stopped looking for Jesus to be there in our own sigh-inducing moments?  Have we stopped telling others about the moments we have caught glimpses of him?  Or maybe, are we ourselves still a little bit uncomfortable with the idea of an savior who sighs and spits like the rest of us, regardless of how undignified it makes him seem?  Maybe Mark is giving us another glimpse of Jesus like this so that we will come to recognize him among the sighs and surprises of this new day.  Let us not waste the opportunity to catch a glimpse of our savior, right here in our midst.
Lord Jesus, be with us in all your real-ness and let us let you come as close as we need you to.

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Extravagant (Poem and Picture 033)--January 19, 2019


"Extravagant"
See Christ Here Poem and Picture 033--January 19, 2019

How many eons of time and tons of pressure,
and how much ancient life
were brought together
underground
so that one day
my eyes could take in
refracted rainbow stripes
waiting to be seen
as oil and water bend the light
from a lonely gas station puddle?

This world is extravagant.

#seeChristhere